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My Knight and I went to a tiny con this past weekend.  BadCon at UAlbany.  It was not a "bad con" but there was hardly anyone there.  I'm hoping to help out with spreading the word next year.  Still, we sold some things and met some people and saw some friends.  Mostly, we sat around doodling together.  This was like a dream date for me, as it turns out.

My Knight, Rob, draws people as potatoes.  They show up in his webcomic on occasion here:   http://www.unmedicatedcomic.com/
and he'll draw people at cons as potatoes.  I was highly entertained by this, so I decided to draw him as a potato.  ...But it didn't wind up as cute as his do.

Also, everything scanned for this had gotten a little wet because A. it was raining afterwards and B. we had a spill.  The spill was entertaining in it's own right because while our drawings got a little wet, everything else on the table was saved by the tablecloth itself. 

Since part of that looked like a face, my Knight drew the spill:

...I need a better editing program for my scanner so you kids can see these better. 

To give you an idea of the kinds of stuff sold at these events, we sell art prints, sometimes T-shirts, key chains and assorted body parts:

"Give someone the finger!"  Get it??

At one point, we took two words, put them together and then saw what we each came up with.  First was fish-apple:

His:

Mine (Which I think wound up more frog-like than fish-like.  ...Or maybe just sick):

Then came centipede and barrel.
His:

Mine:

and another try:

I also attempted to show the difference between antennae and penises.  ...I don't remember why.  But here they are:

Now, to conclude, I'm going to express how head over heels I am for this guy.

I don't do outside.

I just don't.

I think of the outside world and I think of the "tweezers" my mom has handed me when I wanted to pluck my eyebrows, knowing those things are for plucking off bugs and out splinters and other horrible outside things.

Seriously.  The fuck are these things?


I'm allergic to outside.  Literally.  Grass makes me itchy and red.

YET I went out by his family's house so he could show me where he spent his childhood days, by rusty pieces of metal and now overgrown thorns... And even with a busted hip from before then and even while stressed out of my mind and ridden with silent panic attacks, I still managed to have a good time.

Why?

Because he was with me.

...Also some of the plants did neat things like this:

Twisty and there's that curl thing at the bottom. 

Because I really never go outside, knowing that I do have some pretty amazingly bad allergies, when I do go outside, I feel a little like a kid in a bubble.  I'm stupefied by the beauty of it all, and TERRIFIED by any little prick of anything at all. 
I used to run into the woods as a kid and climb trees.  I'd walk over rocks and not complain when I got wet in a creek. 
Then 12 years old happened and the learned-the-hard-way-knowledge of what an allergen can do kind of ruined my life and ended what bit of a childhood I had. 

I'd like to go back to being that kid.  I'm not as brave as I used to be, but maybe with the help of my Knight, I'll get there. 

...that being said, I really DO have allergies, so it can't be all the time anyway. 
Still, worth a shot once in a while, yeah?

Knight in Pinstripes

I find myself dating someone who "gets it" and this is unique for me.
I'd mentioned him briefly in my last post.  We've been officially dating for a little over three weeks now.  We've known each other longer than that and we've known of each other much longer than that still.

It's been a while since a post because everything is so busy.  Cons, conferences, presentations…  And my knight. 
He doesn't stifle my creativity though.  Not at all.  He is my partner and a friend as well as a romantic interest.

…

Of course, I'm terrified. 
And then I am incredibly calm and everything is natural…
and then I'm terrified because I'm calm.
And thankfully, he is patient.  He is actually patient and kind.

I often want to bond with the wrong people, so I'm thankful that my Knight is actually a nice guy, while also having a brain in his head. 

This is what he looks like in my mind, and I think he looks this way to himself as well:

See, if you've been paying attention to this blog, you know a little about my not-really-love life over the past few years.  This had left me paranoid and afraid to let go.

My Knight just accepts this without question, which makes me let my guard down more easily. 
It's refreshing.

Generally, my intersections with people… 
Well, here is an example:

Today's youth. 
Keep in mind, I was actively drawing when Pant-ception showed up in my peripheral vision. 

"Do you draw?" He asked.
"What?" I responded, unsure if he was speaking to me.
"Sorry.  ….Do you draw?" He asked again.
"Uhhh…"  I looked at my drawing, trying to figure out what I had missed.  "Yes.  Yes I do draw."
"Cool," he said, "I draw too."
I put my pencil down, eager to be an inspiration to today's youth.  "Yeah?" I said, "What do you like to draw?"
He mumbled out, "People. … graffiti.  Lots of stuff."  He said nothing else.  I waited, but that was it.
"…" I blinked.  "That works."
That was the end of it.  This was oddly a typical conversation between strangers and myself. 

But my Knight is different. He is a fan of my work just as I am of his.  He is on my level in every way.  Well, he is more energetic than I am, and that is for the best.

That was all too sappy, so to end, El Chupacockbra:

Exams, Explanations and Excuses

You know how life tends to happen all at once? This week is that.

I started out last week as my normal sort of miserable but functioning self, and then I started to relax a bit because I started getting to know someone cool (a friend started calling him my Knight in Pinstripes), Xena, FATE and I were looking for a place to live, school was going well enough and I even had some commissions to do.

We found a place and the move in date is RIGHT NOW. I'll do a post all about our cute Russian landlord and the area itself... For now, I have no time.

I'm not even sure if I'm breathing.

Moving in is not the problem. We have the place, so I'm putting off packing and doing anything concerning that for at least a week.

No no. The problem is the everything else on top of the moving.

These are mostly good things. 

Like, I now have a bazillion commissions to do.  ...And requests.  This is awesome except that time is a thing.  Time is a thing that I don't have. 

Also, Genericon is this weekend. The fact that I'm entirely unprepared is my own fault.

I have a table in Artist's Alley.

...

I HAVE TO MAKE THINGS RIGHT NOW

and that is not something I can put off.

Genericon and talking to men actually sport the same problem for me these days.

I want physical contact, 

but I instantly talk myself out of it.

...And then I get upset with myself because just shutting off and changing my mind is a difficult thing to do.  

Sometimes, I force myself to accept things, and I'm really happy for a moment.

Like, super happy.

And then the allergy weirdness and paranoia sinks in.

And I over think and can't seem to shut it off.

I wind up feeling like I'm being hugged by cashews.

So, given all that, my interactions at this three day convention might be... interesting.

Still, I expect to have a small army of companions who already consistently put up with my shit by my side.

How does someone so reclusive, twitchy, and anti-social have so many friends? Whatever. I'm not gonna knock it.

Oh, and I have a midterm today.

...and one on Thursday.

Genericon is Friday, Saturday and Sunday.

...Wednesday is game. Game is fine. Game is good. ...I may bring things to sew at game.

...

*flails*

EDIT:  Genericon went really well, despite my poor assistant having a fever.  (Z, I love you)  
I have almost a desk in the apartment and we ...think?  ...my other shit will fit?  The problem is not the bedroom.  The problem is getting it through this tiny, curved hallway that leads into the room.  We'll see.
I have date today.  ...Tonight.  woo

Meat Sauce

So, my mother is like an escaped Disney Princess.  She really is.  Everything she says and does and how she looks and sounds... Yep.

...And then I see this:

This looks like something you'd find in a serial killer's fridge.

"Lazagha"  I think that's supposed to be lasagna. 


I should film a horror movie and just call it "Lazagha" and not say why.


...



This is what gave birth to me.  


...


and I just-

 

Yet Another Post About Poop

My cat. OH MY GOD.
She just got in the arching "Imma shit now" position, I yelled at her, MOVED HER WITH MY FOOT

and she shat anyway.

 "You see me trollin'…"


This cat gives NO SHITS except for the literal kind.

*Poop*


Okay, her's is really not that... Like that, but this is more graphically interesting to draw.



I wish I had the balls this freaking cat does. My god.
Next time I get rejected by a man who has been flirting for months, that's it. I'm just gonna shit right there.

 "Yeah... You were like, third and a half choice."

Drop trow and just shit right in front of him, possibly on his feet.

Get a crap grade in a class? 

CRAP IN YOUR CLASS.

Oh, drama happening with friends or family?

Disarm the situation by shitting right there on the rug!  Or even on the furniture! 

…


Fuck you, cat.

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

Lately…
Maybe not just lately.
Maybe it has been forever.



I've been feeling like The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. 

Only, mine is not the story of Jekyll finding freedom in Hyde
so much as Hyde desperately putting on Jekyll's old suit
and finding that it no longer fits.
My Hyde wanders around uncomfortably in Jekyll's clothes,
trying to save face to save himself.

Jekyll is often nowhere to be found, but none of his companions notice.
They all believe Hyde.
When Jekyll finally does take his own skin again, he is tired.
Briefly excited, he finds excuses to keep going.

Jekyll can make a living, and it is an honorable one.
He knows deep down that he is helping others
and that his own desires and needs must never come first.
His happiness has meant so little for so long that he is afraid to find any for himself,
lest it be a distraction
or just something good to lose.
Falling from grace would be quite the distraction.

Hyde just runs rampant, chaotic but happy.
Hyde does not care for the needs of those around him.
They are little more than stepping stones.
But Hyde is new.
Hyde is young and reckless.
He has all the passion in the world,
but lacks the drive to succeed at anything meaningful.

Jekyll is just the opposite. 

Hyde needs Jekyll in order to remain so content and free and blameless.
Jekyll needs Hyde in order to release his demons
and prevent them from choking him in his sleep.
Jekyll gives Hyde some sense of structure and purpose…




But Hyde has dreams of his own.

Dreams that may conflict with Jekyll's entire way of life. 


So...





Who do I root for now?

Stripper Elves Have Holiday Spirit, Right?

Alright, it's Christmas time.

Xmas.

...Consumerism mass.

Ass.

My friend was bored to tears at work and asked me to tell her a story.

Here is what she looks like holding a thick chocolate shake that is too large for her:

In any case, anyone who knows me understands that if I'm asked a question or a reasonable task, I will comply.

This often involves nudging me and reminding me though, as my memory is both jack and shit.

SO

I wrote a thing.

Oddly enough, I wrote a Christmas thing.

There are four key characters in this and you will see them as they are introduced. I'm leaving the illustrations black and white for now so that anyone can print them out or take them to color in. If you do a fun job of coloring them, send them my way at deddrie@gmail.com so I can see your interpretation!

*ahem*

Once upon a time, there was an elf named Squibble. 

Squibble had worked for Santa for many years. The hours were long and grueling. Only the three richest kids even got their handiwork these days. The rest was all being outsourced to China and India and that was not what Squibble signed up for!

So he went on strike. Unfortunately, he was the only one to go on strike, as no other elves had any issues with how things were done.

An elf from public relations ran a memo down to Squibble announcing his “forced retirement”...

This was odd, as Squibble was a young elf.

As he cleaned out his tiny elf desk and found his thimble mug and teeny tiny stapler, a girl elf, his replacement, stepped up.

Her name was Bumple, but everyone called her “Glitter” since her stripper days.

She looked at him with sadness in her eyes as he walked away. She sat down at her new desk.

Glitter noticed something shiny. It was a pencil sharpener, and a rather nice one. It had his name engraved on the side.

 

“Oh noes!” cried Glitter, “I must return this to Squibble!”

Well, by then Squibble had already hopped on the polar train to go back to his shitty elf apartment.

Glitter didn't know where Squibble lived.

She asked around.

No records were kept of ex Santa elves.

Hell, he'd be lucky to get a reference, and it wouldn't even be from Ol' Nick himself.

She decided to look for clues.

His trashcan contained a tea bag, three tissues and a used condom.

Jiggles thought Glitter was strange for going through the garbage, but she explained that the used condom was from her romp with Squibble in the back office.

Jiggles couldn't say where Squibble lived exactly, but she had heard him mention Downtown.

...Also, she was about the only one in the factory to give Squibble a “good review”...

So on Glitter went, sharpener and tea bag in hand. Downtown was filled with icky penguins. They wore rubber suits and asked her to go “diving” and to “get some fish” with them.

Before long, Glitter happened upon a specialty tea shop. “Tea Baggins” was owned by a chubby hobbit, Bob. The signs in the window showed bags like the one Glitter held.

Bob told her that only two elves ever bother to shop there. One sounded like Squibble and had left a matchbox from Honkers bar and strip joint.

Glitter snatched the matches and marched off to Honkers. The ladies there were rude and hated Glitter for her success as a stripper in the good part of town.

After much harassment, finally a college student gnome who was stripping just to pay her way through gnome-med school said, “I remember someone like who you describe. He asked for a lap dance and then started crying about his mother. He even brought me to meet her. Super awkward.”

The gnome remembered the address of the mother, drew it out on a napkin and handed it to Glitter.

“It's a big old house just that way. I think it's haunted!” She pointed and Glitter shot out the door.

“HOPE YOU AREN'T ALLERGIC TO CATS” the gnome yelled after her.

The house was huge and dusty as Glitter gingerly stepped inside. “Hello?” Glitter called out meekly to no answer.

“He-hello? ACK!” A thing that may have at one point been a cat ran through her legs.

Glitter passed the kitchen, noting how few knives were in the rack.

She passed a bedroom that looked disheveled and stained...

Then, the only room left...

The basement.

“Shit” said Glitter.

As she reached for the door, clutching the sharpener as though it may save her life...

A hand shot out and grabbed her by the arm. Glitter screamed!

The old elf looked at Glitter, then put on her comically large glasses to look harder.

“I don't want any Elfscout Cookies! They give me the runs! Go way!” said the old elf.

“No, no.” Glitter clutched her left breast as she tried to catch her breath.

“I'm looking for your son, Squibble.”

The old elf laughed and said, “Oh thank the lord! He found one that isn't a skank! Come on to the dining room Dear. We'll have some tea.”

Glitter was tired and questioned if she should get involved with this guy Squibble in any way.

Still, the tea was hot and the cats were well enough behaved.

Just as Glitter had begun to ignore the eighth embarrassing tale of Squibble's youth in favor of watching a cat lick its own anus for half an hour, there was a knock at the door.

“Hey Mom, listen. I know I just said I'd never move back here, but I just got fired today and-”

Squibble looked up to see Glitter clutching a tea cup, his sharpener on the table, a book of embarrassing photos out, one of the cats was in his mother's hair and another was obviously thinking about shitting on Glitter's feet.

“The fuck is happening?” asked Squibble.

“Oh Dear! This is Glitter from your office! You should marry her.” The old elf beamed.

Squibble said, “Mom, we don't even know each-”

“SHUT UP AND GIVE ME GRANDCHILDREN BEFORE I'M DEAD YOU LITTLE SHIT” said the old elf.

Glitter handed him the sharpener. They smiled. The three of them smoked a bowl and Glitter got Jiggles to come over and help them clean.

The old woman never got her grandchildren, but she was so senile that she didn't really know the difference anyway.

Eventually she passed away and Glitter, Jiggles and Squibble lived happily ever after in sin.

Also, Squibble wrote a book about aging cats and wound up with way too much money.

He thought about donating it, but too many years working for the man left him just wanting boats, bling, and elf pussy.

The end.